


Making Himself

by experimentalarchetype



Category: Sherlock (TV), translock - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Trans!Sherlock, ftm Sherlock, ftm!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 06:10:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7302718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/experimentalarchetype/pseuds/experimentalarchetype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes and his transition, along with coming out to John. May be triggering to transmasc people, or people recovering from an addiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A huff escaped his mouth as the needle slipped into his leg. He always enjoyed the nineteenth of every month, because it meant he could be who he truly was. After disposing of everything properly (which was a miracle for him, considering the state of his apartment) and making sure there was absolutely no evidence of the hormones he'd injected into himself aside from the skin colored band aid that rested on his thigh. It was strikingly dark in comparison to his ghostly leg.  
After flopping onto his couch with his well worn violin, he played softly. Well, at least as softly as the damn thing could play. It was an expensive violin after all, and its rich tone and projection showed that. After playing for about an hour, John walked in with groceries. With that being such a common event, Sherlock didn't take his eyes off of the neck of his violin.  
"Sherlock?"  
"What?" Sherlock couldn't possibly know what it was this time. Watson always had questions for him even though it was blatantly obvious that whatever the hell was on the table was an experiment, even someone with as low of an IQ as Anderson could figure it out.  
"How did you get those scars?" Shit. Holmes had forgotten to put a shirt on after he'd put his pajamas on. He looked down at the fading pink streaks that resided a few inches below his nipples. God damn it.  
"Nothing, John. I broke some ribs during an experiment as a teenager. It's a thrilling tale, really. You see, I was testing whether long haired dog breeds contracted poison oak to the same effect that-"  
"It's okay, I... really don't need to hear the whole story." The look on his face said it all; he knew Sherlock was lying. At least he didn't know the truth.


	2. Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock flashbacks throughout his childhood/ early transition. Sorry for the short chapter. Feedback please? I tried to write about female anatomy the best I could heh. I hope it was accurate. Oh and please don't bind with ace bandages because they're really dangerous and can break your ribs.

Sherlock flopped onto the couch, ignoring her mother’s obsessive vacuuming. It was the second time within four days that her mother had cleaned the house obsessively. Since her father hadn’t been fussing about (and neither had Mycroft), she would be okay. No one was coming to visit. Visitors meant dresses, and dresses meant doing up her hair and makeup (mummy would yell at her, “At least put some lipstick and mascara on! You’ll look like a boy if you don’t!”)

After humming to herself for a moment, she walked upstairs. She needed to think, and to figure out what was troubling Mother. And to think, she needed silence.

She wasn’t the most slender girl in her year, but she wasn’t far from it. As she walked up the stairs to her overcrowded and messy hole of a room, her breasts jiggled and it was just another reminder of what shouldn’t have been there. She had taken to binding them with ace bandages once she got to school, along with changing to a hand-me-down pair of pants and shirt from Mycroft. She wasn’t a guy, it’s just that being so feminine didn’t suit her.

Mycroft had hesitantly given her his clothes, but he didn’t know about the binding and she’d hoped he never did. Occasionaly, a sharp pain would jolt across her abnormally large chest as she sat in maths or English. Once, in Physics, she’d doubled over but told her teacher that it was just cramps. It ddn’t take a genius to figure out that what she was doing, doubled with the size of her chest, didn’t help her physical or mental health and needed to be addressed quickly.

There was one problem, however: she didn’t know what to even call it, nor did she know how to tell anyone about such a phenomenon. It made her scared just to think of it. People would judge her more than they already did, and that would hurt even more than it already did. With this information in hand, she went to the one place where she could express herself freely: the library belonging to a local college. It was much more extensive than her school’s, and woud certainly help more than the sex ed books droning on about celibacy and euphemism-bloated descriptions of coitus. She found it slightly… repulsive, to say the least.

Once she had finished her study session, she had learned one thing: males could physically transition to female through hormones and surgery, if they wished to do so. With this information in mind, she went to research the effects of testosterone and its risks on a female human.


	3. Haze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good ol Sherly finds himself in a bit of a rut. Takes place a few weeks after chapter one. Also from Sherlock's point of view. I'm going to be experimenting on that as well. Feedback is appreciated, etc. And oh yeah, sorry for the short chapter.

Bubbles dance around my head as I sink my ears into the water. Someone next door is yelling at his wife. He tends to get drunk and beat her, if he's in the mood. I sink in deeper, not wanting to bring back memories. I like to think I've deleted them, but those are ingrained better than the differences between the は and が particles. I'd known those since I was nine.  
I bring my head back up. What am I? Nothing. Maybe that's the answer.  
I sink back down again, back into that clear abyss. I sigh. John should be home any minute. I tried to let it look like he'd never seen my scars, but it hasn't been that simple. He had common sense, after all.  
I dry myself off. The white fuzz drifts over the pink tissue and falls to the ground as I pick up a t shirt, pajama pants, and robe. Those are all i've been wearing the past few weeks. No case, no reason to leave.  
I fondle the locks of hair thay drift over my forehead. I need a haircut. Then again, no need. There never really is a need, and no one's ever dies because their hair was too long. At least not directly.  
A soft creak, reminiscent of a barn door, flows through the small flat. He looks at me, nods, and flops down onto the couch. The grey locks descend down his forehead only about half an inch, and his cheeks are scarlet from the cold.   
"All right, Sherlock. I've got some questions for you."


	4. Some Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John asks Sherlock for some questions.

John looks at me with his cold, silver eyes. Why? I'd never seen them this... cold before. Usually they become warm, bright, and nervous when I'm around him or even when we work on a case. His skin is about three shades paler than usual, his lips are slightly sucked in, and he rocks back and forth. All of those show distress of some type. Wait, that's not right... worry? Possibly. He sits down on the faded chair and folds his hands as he leans in. He's definitely upset.  
"I spoke to Mike today, and he didn't have any answers. To the scars, that is." John's speech pattern sounds normal, despite how it wavers. I look at his shoes. There's a small pebble visible in one of the ridges of the sole, noticeably from somewhere near the King's Cross station. That would require a taxi, hence the faint smell of skittles and marijuana. He went to the library, no doubt. A library the size of the British Library would have everything he'd need.  
"With that being said, you went to the British Library and looked for answers, correct?" I look at him with my typical, hands pressed together look and he sighs, resting his head in his hand. He looks back up at me, the light catching into his silver irises.   
"You've got to stop doing that."  
"I'm allowed to be impatient."  
John sighs. "Fine, I just... I think I've figured it out. Well... there are a few different possibilities. I know one of them seems more unlikely and a bit ridiculous than the others but it's worth a shot."   
"Enlighten me, please. Least ridiculous to most, if you wouldn't mind. I'll tell you which one is true when you're finished all of them."  
He looks astounded. After a few seconds, he looks dead into my eyes and begins reciting as if he were reading off of a list: "First and least ridiculous, acute lung collapse. Cause unknown, but you had to have surgery to get it repaired. Second, a tumor of some type had to be extracted. Third, Ghynecomastia, or skin that was removed after some form of rapid weight loss. Fourth and finally, the most ridiculous one. Bilateral mastectomy, which could also go with the gynecomastia. Generally, that porcedure is reserved for..."  
I'm not going to say a word. I want to see if he can figure it out himself. He rubs his hands on his jeans. He's nervous.  
I chuckle as he pauses. He stands up and curls his arms around me. He knows. For the first time in a long time, I sink into the embrace with him. "I think you've figured it out, John."  
"I was never able to tell anyway." he breaks the embrace fairly quickly once I stiffen up within it. "This changes nothing, though."  
"That's a relief." I reply. I mean it, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to create an outline for these. I'm kind of writing this as I go along. The next chapter may have a flashback with Lestrade. Tell me what you think! sorry for not updating, I had so much school work :/


	5. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a flashback with Lestrade, and when he finds out about Sherlock being transgender. Takes place before he gets top surgery. Mentions of drugs towards the end.

I throw on the blue scarf and run outside, hailing a cab as quickly as I can. Thanks to the rain, all of them are full for a good 5 minutes (a long time for a London cab). Once I step into one and sink back onto the worn leather seat, I flip my phone out to get the details. Murder on Shroton Street. As soon as the car pulls out, I pinch the inside of my coat. That analysis isn't needed, however, because I notice drops falling from the bottom of the coat and a few dangling off of the flaps. Then I notice it. My shirt is also wet, and I can see the grey binder straight through the light purple material. Luckily I'm wearing a suit jacket over it, so it shouldn't be noticed even if I take off the coat.

Once I reach the scene, I pretend to listen to Donovan's nonsense and Anderson's useless babbling. They never said anything useful. I walk inside, putting on those shoe covers and gloves. I take my jacket off and place it next to Lestrade's. The crime is recent, and the house is still heated.

Then I see him. He lies there, with a bullet hole through his stomach and the gun next to him. Serial suicides, always a fun one. Third one this week; you'd never know what comes out of a case like this. As I walk around the room, my mind whirs. Lestrade hands me a note. His suicide note. I scan over it, analysing the handwriting as I go over everything. "Murder, but he shot himself. Someone forced him to do it, though." I state blankly. I show the team the evidence, including how several letters were drawn vastly differently in a grocery list than on the note, thus proving it a forgery (as well as having been written by a left handed person rather than a right handed one). Lestrade sighs. "My question is why they shot through the _stomach_ rather than anywhere else. Anything on that?"

"Could be for an organ trade. They could have taken out an organ that was near the exit wound. Let me see if anything was taken out." I walk over to him, examining the exit wound. Nothing. "Worst case scenario, it was a hate crime."

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"You can't tell, can you? He must have had everything changed then. Even legal gender."

"So you mean a _she_ , right?"

I sigh. Why did it have to be today, of all days? "No. _He_. There's clearly signs of having been on testosterone for about 6 years, as well as having had top surgery 3 years ago."

Anderson whispers into Donovan's ear, "He's a psychopath, I tell you. What's the bloody difference anyway?" and I lose it. The scissors that were on the counter have somehow made their way into the wall not two inches from Anderson's head, sticking straight out with only about a centimeter submerged into the wall.

" _Be grateful I'm not too experienced at throwing scissors."_ I growl at him. I need to calm down, but I can't right now. Not with everyone staring. It takes a second, but I notice out of the corner of my eye that the shirt is sticking to the binder and it shows through, and Lestrade is staring right at it. I need nicotine. I storm out of the room, muttering something about texting him the details once I figure out the case. I throw on my coat and leave as quickly as I can. 

Lestrade isn't too stupid, and he knows how to put two and two together. It's safe to assume that he knows. I only hope Anderson is too damn stupid to think that the binder is an undershirt. I need to learn control. I need to get high.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dialogue sucks today and I'm probably not going to spellcheck. I want to get in an update because I didn't update for so long??? Please tell me what you want me to write about because I need to get back into writing before school starts. And yeah, I know it kinda rips off A Study in Pink, but I wasn't conscious about it at first and I suck at coming up with stuff like this :/


	6. A Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after the last chapter's case is finished. A bit of filler for what I might have coming. Sorry about not uploading for so long.

I never told my family. I don't think any of them know except for Mycroft. That's okay though. He's the only person I need to know anyways.   
A while ago, I'd had him change all of the info on me. Now, even my birth certificate says male. It should.  
He barges into my apartment one rainy spring day. A case had just been finished, and he was convinced that I was "damaged." It wasn't entirely wrong.  
He sits on the couch, facing me. We both held a cigar in each hand.  
"Cubans," he states. He's correct, the ash is an even, dark grey, so it was grown in an area with low magnesium levels. Like Cuban soil.  
"Why are you here, brother?" I ask. I don't want help.  
"Oh, no reason. Just checking up on you." We both know he's lying.  
"The case is closed, nothing else about it."  
"What if i told you that you're scared it'll happen again?" Me being outed, that is.   
"I'm not. Sticks and stones, brother dear." I put out my cigar, grab my coat, put my scarf on in that ritualistic manner, and leave. John must have told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for not uploading for so long! I might have another story in the works but I'll definitely upload more. I'm always open to ideas for new stuff too!


	7. Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shrelock asks a few people about his outing and tries to trace it to who told Mycroft. Sorry for such a short one but I really dont know where I'm going with this story lol, it was originally just practice for my writing class.

As of right now, there are three suspects. Anderson, Lestrade, and John. They are the main people who saw my binder. No one else really did, and asking them could make this all worse.  
I'm what most males (and some females) would consider well endowed. That is, I have quite a large chest and it was rather difficult to hide. A small slip such as that could be detrimental.  
"Come in." I said, since he was the first one to arrive. I have a bit of an extraneous setup: one chair, and the couch which I sit on. The blinds are pulled and the door is shut with towels underneath the gap to the floor. In my hand, there was a desk lamp that I angled the shade on so it only shines in one direction. Setting that mood is key, anyways.  
"What the hell, Sherlock!" John screams as I gently push him into the seat and cut off all of the light in the room except for the one lamp.  
"I know you told Mycroft and now I'm in a heap of trouble. He went through all that effort to hide what I was born as and that has all gone to shit." I say, not containing both my anger and my hurt very well.  
"I have no idea what you're talking about in the world of shit part, he brought it up and asked you what I'd seen. He made me swear to not tell you he asked me, and I'm actually quite terrified of your brother." Okay. That was honest. I let him go an proceeded to take down my Extraneous Setup. This would take explaining from both sides.


	8. authors note. an explanation.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lots of tw's. family issues, addiction, etm. it should explain things. i hope i can get back into writing more

okay. this is going up... sometime late at night, and i really am not bothering to type this up proper or whatever. and yeah in case none of you read the title it's an authors note so feel free to not read this.   
throughout this summer, i've been struggling with coming sober from a pretty rough drug problem. i don't want to head into too much detail because i'd rather keep my identity secret.  
basically, it's an apology. im not really into these and i dont know why im posting some bull like this but hey what the hell. i know there were a couple of people who enjoyed this story. i want to continue. i want to keep up with this. but damn, it might be a while. i'm renovating an apartment right now so i should be posting on the reg once i get the internet going there. peace out, my home slices


	9. Finally, A Proper Case

"So why are we here today?" He looks at Nikolos over his wire framed reading glasses. It's Niko's first appointment. He's trying to be optimistic and that just might change with this therapist.  
"You know why. It's on my papers."  
"Yes, but I want to hear it in your own words, not my receptionist's."  
"Okay then. I was in my mum's car with her and my dad. They were fighting, and for some reason ran a stop sign. All I remember from there was waking up in a hospital. I don't even remember the impact. They said I'd had a pretty rough concussion." He stares back at Niko for a moment, seeing how he's about to start crying.  
"You all right? You have a right to be upset though, Your parents only died a month ago." He replies, knowing that he's treading on thin ice.  
"You don't think I don't know that already?! My parents are dead! It's not the amount of time that gets thrown in between them dying and now, it's the fact that they're dead at all that makes me upset! If we had been going the tiniest bit faster, I would have died instead of them!" And with that, he storms out.  
For some reason, two weeks later, he walks back in. The same thing basically happens, but something's different about this therapist. Something that understood him like no other, with his wire frame specs and choppy white hair that had yet to thin, along with bags under his eyes and a five o'clock shadow that he somehow pulled off well.  
All of this continues for about three months. Niko screaming his emotions out, and the therapist telling him that it's okay to feel that way.  
Sometimes, however, it seems as though the therapist wanted him to feel bad, to suffer. After a while of this, Niko stops making appointments.  
Two weeks later, an emaciated mediterannean man in his early twenties is found with a bullet in his skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Hopefully I'll have more up soon. In case you didnt read my note from last time, I'm moving so I won't be uploading as often as I want to. I started a tumblr for me to dump some other writing practice as well, it's the same as my username here. If anyone has ideas, feedback, etc feel free to contact me there or here! Also, I got a prompt to kinda streamline the plot. Since I couldn't find who uploaded it originally i dont know who to give credit to? I'm going to go further with this case if you guys like it since I know I like it :)

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys want more to this story, let me know! Sorry for the short chapter. I was rushing to complete. I might go back and edit it later. English isn't my best language and this is my first fic so I hope it's good! I promise to flashback in the second chapter.


End file.
